A Break in Tradition
by Lost Triforce
Summary: A Wood Elf. A Wood Elf that fights for the Nords and the glory of Talos. But what's more, she's the Dovahkiin of legend. Will she be able stay true to her Elven blood, and guard her darkest secret from all? And what of Ulfric, who secretly covets her? Against all odds, she fights for her beliefs, and truly turns out to be a break in tradition.
1. A Life Turned

The pitter patter of miniature feet. The stretch of a bow. The twang of its release . And the padded thunk of three arrows making their mark-bullseye.

There was a loud whoop as a male Bosmer picked up the marksman, his tiny five year old daughter, and spun her around in a playful hug.

"Always knew you could do it, Falja, you're destined for greatness."

"Thanks daddy!"

The tiny wood elf child ran to the targets, yanking and pulling with all her might as one by one she removed the arrows.

"I told you, Gosver, that kid's got it in her! And to think, all that from a child who's an eighth Nord. What have they ever added to the world of archery?"

The Bosmer, Gosver, cuffed his friend of the head.

"Now Arvere, no need to speak ill of my great grandfather. Nord blood or not, my daughter has the soul of a true Mer. And I'm proud of her."

Arvere scoffed and took his leave, but not before ruffling the bright red hair atop Falja's head.

"See ya 'round, kid."

"Bye Mr. Arvere!"

Gosver sighed, looking down apon his wide eyed and eager daughter. He knelt down, nuzzling his nose against hers, laughing as his blonde hair tangled with her red mane.

"Your mother will be so proud, just you wait!"

"So proud of what, love?"

And there she was, the love of his life. Tall, lithe, and hair of fire. Even after years of marriage, Gosver was still smitten with his wife.

"Kjera, you will never guess what Falja did today! She shot 3 arrows-at once- and all of them hit the target! Our little girl is turning out to be quite like you!"

Kjera smiled and knelt down by Falja.

"Did you really, now? This calls for a celebration."

Kjera stood, placed two fingers in her mouth and let out a bird whistle. Slowly but surely, Wood Elves from all over the small town gathered with food for the impromtu feast.

"Well will you look at that?" Kjera chuckled, and turned back to her daughter. "No matter where you go in your journeys, Falja, never forget that we Bosmer throw the best spontaneous parties. Always a whistle away!"

The celebration went on for hours into the night in true Wood Elf fashion. Dancing, old Elvish tales and songs, and much boasting of the hunt filled the night.

"Alright, alright!" Gosver called out, once the night had reached its peak darkness, and the flames lapping at the wood of the bonfire was the only source of light left.

"Time for the wee ones to get to bed!"

There were a few groans from the children as they shuffled back to their respective houses, but Falja defiantly stayed put on the split log the guests had been using as a bench.

"Falja, love, that means you, too."

"Nuh-uh! I wanna stay out here and listen to the warriors tell their stories!" she whined.

Kjera snatched Falja up so she dangled helplessly upside-down, laughing as she struggled to get away.

"Come now you, bed time"

Falja fought valiantly all the way through her home, up the stairs, through her bedroom door until her mother exhaustedly plopped her down onto her bed and turned to take her leave.

"Mommy?"

Kjera turned back around, surprised to see her daughter snuggled under the covers.

"Yes love?"

"Will you tell me a story before you go?"

Sighing, Kjera took a seat beside Falja's bed, smiling absently as she stroked her daughter's hair.

"Any particular story you'd like to hear, love?"

"Tell me the story about Great-Great Grandpa and Grandma!"

Letting out a wild laugh, Kjera bopped Falja on the nose.

"You've asked me to tell that story a thousand times! But okay."

Falja snuggled deeper under the covers until the sheet was just under her bottom eyelashes.

"A long, long time ago, your Great-Great Grandma was an adventurer. At a very young age she travelled from Valenwood to Morrowind and to Elsweyr and back. On her final journey when she was still only 28 years old, she ventured to the land of Skyrim. There, in one of the great nine holds, by the shrine of the God Talos, she met your Great-Great Grandfather. A strong, handsome Nord, he was taken with her at first sight. Though it was taboo to marry into an Elf family, he swore he would marry her. Two months later, while your Great Great Grandmother was packing her things to return to Valenwood, he proposed. The rest of our family has always lived in Valenwood, and therefore married back into full Elven culture, but we do not forget our Nordic heritage." Kjera smile proudly and stroke her daughter's hair. "Falja, your skills with a bow reflect your nordic heritage, which is why I want you to have this."

Kjera reached under the neck of her dress and removed a glowing amulet of Talos and gave it to her daughter, who stared at it curiously,

"Take it, my love, and remember always your Nordic blood."

As Kjera once again got up to leave, she was stopped by a muffled call of "Mommy?"

"Yes, love?"

"Will you take me to Skyrim someday?"

There was long pause.

"...Yes. When you're old enough, we will go. All three of us."

"Promise?"

"I promise love."

Finally, Kjera left, leaving her daughter to slide completely under the covers and hug the amulet closer to her. She dreamed of Skyrim, and all the adventures she would have.

A few weeks later, Gosver was hard at work, chopping wood for the hearth while his wife hunted with the other women of the village, and his daughter was off playing in the wheat fields, just far enough away so he could just hear her if she needed him.

After a particularly rough swing, he hunched over, taking deep breaths and swiping the sweat away from his brow. When he looked up again, he was greeted by the sight of High Elf, dressed in elaborate dark robes.

"Hello brother. I'm sure you must be curious as to who I am."

"Yes, I am. So just who the hell are you?"

The man chuckled darkly.

"I am a member of the esteemed Thalmor. We have recently sent a branch out to Valenwood to after acertaining that there were enough Altmer here to be concerned in, ah, buisiness, here. We also observe the behavior of the Bosmer here."

"Yeah, well what does that have to to with me?" Gosver asked roughly. "I'm not in charge around here, try the House of White Moss."

The man let out another chuckle and shook his head.

"Oh we've been. Actually, the conversation I had with the village elder is what caused me to come here. You see, I hear you daughter is a marvel with a bow. A little training and, well, she could be quite the asset to the Thalmor... "

"What? No! She's five years old! Yes, she's amazing with a bow, but it doesn't mean she's some super warrior! You can't have her, now get the hell away from my house!"

"I can't garuntee you won't regret this decision in the future, Gosver."

The reply was a wood axe that narrowly missed his head.

And then years passed. With each year, Falja grew stronger and more and more talented with all assortments of weaponry. By her 19th birthday, she was recognized as the strongest female in her village. There was much to celebrate, but the most anticipated was the hair tying ceremony. An old Bosmer tradition, Falja's hair was tied up in to an intricate design. The right side of her hair was allowed to hang down, where it went past her shoulders. The rest was pulled into a tight bun. Four braids,two on either sides of her head, curved back into the bun. Tradition dictated that her hair could be taken out of this fashion only after she had lain with the man she felt she truly loved, and he had to be the one to undo it. A pin imbued with glowing blue magicka sealed her hair, and the celebration insued.

Not more than a day later, her mother was visited by three strange men dressed in elaborate black robes. All but one were High Elves. One was a Wood Elf.

"Hello, sister. I'm sure we greet you well, in these times. Word is your daughter has come of age."

Kjera frowned deeply at being reffered to as sister by an Altmer. As she folded the clothes she had just washed, she sized them up. The Wood Elf was very quiet, obviously not a good sign. The High Elf who was not speaking was sweeping the house with his eyes, taking in the layout of her small bedroom to find the best cover, no doubt. As for the last elf...

"Cut to the chase,Altmer. I know you want my daughter for your little army or whatever. Of age or not, the answer is no. Talos as my witness, you will leave this house!"

"Talos?" the man scoffed. "Talos worship? And I thought the people of this filthy tree-slum went by the old traditions! And here you are, speaking of that Nordic garbage."

There was a muffled step outside the door, clearly from the stairs. Kjera recognized it as her daughter's footsteps. Acting fast, she attempted to look nonchalant as she let out a small chuckle, looked down at her feet, kicked them at nothing in particular , and let out three earpiercing whistles. It was a warning call, and Falja must have gotten it, as she stopped just before reaching the door, which was slightly open.

Kjera bit her lip and quickly realized she'd made a mistake Looking up, she turned to see the wood elf's reaction, who wouldve undoubtedly recognized the whistle.

He was quiet.

"So, you barge into my home, demand my daughter, and insult my gods? You have some nerve you snobbish High Elf ass."

Fury filled the man's eyes as he steped forward to get in Kjera's face. He stood a whole head and a half taller, but Kjera was by far more intimidating.

"Talos worship is officially outlawed," He spat. "We could punish you severely for this blasphemy. But we may be willing to overlook it if your daughter was to join us..."

Kjera stood her ground.

"To Oblivion with your laws."

The man frowned, and stepped back. He snapped his fingers and the two men moved into action. Outside there was a sudden clanging of metal together, and a shouts poured in from the roads.

Befor she had time to react, Kjera felt a hand on her shoulder, pushing her down on to her knees and heard a bow string being pulled back as far as it could go. This wasn't a shake down anymore. It was an execution.

"Well Kjera, I see we can't see eye to eye on this. Last chance to save yourself before my Bosmer friend here causes a scene."

Kjera looked straight at the door. Through the tiny gap that was left open, she could see Falja kneeling down and looking through it.

"I only have this to say. I love my faimily, and I truly love my daughter. I know Sovngarde is not open to the elves, though I wish it so, but I hope wherever my soul goes, Talos's light may be there to guide it."

"Well said."

The snap as the Bosmer released the string was more sickening to Falja then seeing it go through her mother's head. Suddenly remembering she could be next, she rose and ran.

"After her!"

Flying past the stairs and out the door she watched her father struggling to keep off a guard with an old sword that hadn't been sharpened in years.

"Falja! Run! Go!"

Falja brandished her own sword and started forward.

"No! Go! Please Falja, I'll be all right!" she didn't believe him. She stood, unsure of what to do while her father held off the other man's sword. His eyes begged to go.

Running faster than she ever thought she could, she left. Tears streamed down her face and she screamed out as she heard a man groan out his last breath. Whether that breath was her father's or his assailant's, she would never know.

'Where do i go? Where do I go? Where do i go?'

She stopped only after hours of running. She didn't even know if she was still being chased, but it was dark, and the chances of being found were slim.

She curled into herself, feeling cold and alone as she tried to gather her racing thoughts. Her parents were dead, She'd no where to go, and Valenwood wasn't safe anymore. She sighed and clutched a hand around her mother's amulet for comfort. Gasping, she stood, tearing it from her neck so she could look at it.

Her mother had been right, there was no Sovngarde for the elven dead, only the nords. But where the nords were, a part of her heart was, also. There could be no waiting, no idle time spent fiddling with the notion. She had to get to Skyrim. There were no if, ands, or buts about it. She needed to go and she would do whatever it took to get there.

A moment ago her legs were worn, her feet and legs ached, and her lungs burned. But now she didn't care. And so she took off sprinting in the completely wrong direction.

Through the mountains, past the snowy hills and under the noses of the unsuspecting Nords, Falja reached Skyrim within a month. Screaming and dancing, she kicked up snow and laughed, happy to be in the place of the forefathers. What was more, her amulet now glowed with blue magicka, reminding her of the woman who payed the ultimate price to protect her.

Her celebration had been cut short, however, as the sounds of swords clashing filled the cold air.

Unsheating her Elven sword she ran toward the sound. There, men in bright red armour were all working to overtake one helpless looking older man.

"Get away from him, you creeps!"

Rushing in, she slashed at one the the guards who would've otherwise killed the man. Behind her there was a great shout of "FUS-", but was cut off by what must've been a gag. The last thing she saw before her vision went black was the sky above her, and she heard her mother call her in the distance.

Falja groaned as she reawakened. She was in a cart with other prisoners who were all dressed in rags.

"Finally coming 'round, eh?"

She looked up blearily to see a kind faced nord smile at her.

"You got caught up in an Imperial-Stormcloak scuffle. Saved Ulfric the way I heard it."

He jerked his head toward the back of the cart where the man from earlier sat, gagged. Her was staring furiosly at the floor, but at the mention of his name he looked up, and locked eyes with Falja.

His eyes softened, and he nodded at her in a silent thank you.

Falja smiled in return and turned back to the kind faced Nord.

"Name's Ralof. I'm a Stormcloak troop. Figure there's no harm in telling you if we're going to die soon any way."

One of the passengers started panicking.

"Die? What? No! I didn't do anything! I'm too young to-"

"Can it, theif. You should've known better than to steal so close to a fight."

He started whining again until the guard on the horse behind the cart told him to shut up.

"So we're being executed?" Falja asked, surprisingly calm. "Where exactly are they taking us?"

"Helgen. It's the nearest place with a block."

"Fantastic."

Falja again turned to the gagged man, Ulfric. To her surprise he was still staring at her, confusion in his eyes.

"I think he's wondering why an Elf would save him," Ralof mumbled.

Ulfric let out and annoyed hum from under the gag, sighing in an equally annoyed matter as he remembered he couldn't talk.

"Why wouldn't I save someone who was getting attacked?"

"It's not that simple, lass. You see-"

The cart jerked suddenly as it came to an abrupt stop and they reached their destination.

"No! No! I'm innocent! Please!"

Falja rolled her eyes as the theif had to be jerked out of the cart. Then the names of the captured were read aloud. Falja's name, as she expected, was not on the list.

"Hey! Elf!" (Ulfric let out another annoyed hum.) "Who're you?"

"Falja, sir."

"Falja what?"

"Falja ass down the stairs!" was one of the guards snarky calls. A few of the younger guards laughed, but no one else found it funny.

"Falja Everglen."

The guard checked the list over again before calling out to his superior.

"Hey! The Elf isnt on the list!" (Ulfric sighed, giving up) "Whadda we do?"

"Kill her, too. You can never be too sure with these Stormcloak types."

As they started moving toward the block, a great rumble could be heard in the distance. Clearly, some heard it, but others were too distracted by the thief attempting to get away.

"Alright, lets get this over with."

One of the men stepped up to the block, bypassing the priest. As his head rolled away, another rumble was heard. This time the guard asked what to do about it.

"Just ignore it. Elf! You next!"

Falja sighed, disgusted as she pressed her face into the pool of warm blood from the last prisoner. As the executioner raised his blade, the source of the rumbling was revealed. A massive black dragon perched itself on the building above, and blew fire in every direction. What was scarier still, it was speaking.

And Falja could understand it.

**A/N: Hey guys! Well this here is my first ever anything for Skyrim! I do hope you enjoy! Read and review.**


	2. A Rocky Start

A/N Alrighty then! Part 2! Thanks for the reviews! Except you three... You know who you are. Anywhore, the dragon translations are "Die mortals" and "Glory to Dragonkind" . So on with the show! R&R!..

"Oh sweet Talos..."

Akwardly pulling herself up, Falja narrowly dodged a blast of fire.

"Dir, Joorre!"

"Shut up, you freaky lizard thing!"

Falja stumbled as she ran, avoiding another stream of flames.

"Moro wah dov!"

"Elf! This way!"

Falja ran to Ralof who was waiting in a dungeon entrance with Ulfric. As soon as she got close they all ducked inside, the shouts and screams of the soon to be dead fading away.

"All right, first things first." Ralof raised his hands and brought them down roughly on the side of the wall, snapping the rope bindings. He then turned to Ulfric and untied his bonds and ungagged him.

"Ok, stick with the Wood Elf while I scout ahead for some weapons."

"Bosmer."

Ralof stopped in his tracks and turned back to Ulfric.

"Sorry, what?"

Ulfric sighed, annoyed.

"Bosmer, not Wood Elf. Go on then."

Ralof looked confused but continued ahead regardless. Falja, however was even more baffled as Ulfric worked to get her bondings undone.

"Nords... Usually dont call Elves by their proper Mer names. Thats... almost flattering!"

Ulfric snorted.

"To know one's enemy is to know their weaknesses." Finally her bondings came undone. "I owe you a thank you. Mer or not, you saved me back there."

"Hey, no problem."

Ralof ran in toting three daggers and tossed one to Ulfric and Falja.

"Eyes open. I'm guessing you'll be leaving us now, Ulfric?"

"Yes. If you live to see another day meet me in Windhelm. And as for you," Ulfric turned back to Falja. "Good luck, Elf."

With that, Ulfric ran back out into the frenzy outside.

"Elf? What happened to Mer? That's so! It doesn't! UGH!"

Falja kicked a wall, annoyed with life in general. Her first day in the land of her ancestors and she's sentenced to death, a dragon attacks, and she goes from the formality of being called Mer to the lowly grumble of Elf. Joy.

"Ulfric's an interesting man. Let's press forward."

It took twenty minutes to finally escape Helgen, but it felt like a lifetime. Then she had to run all the way to Riverwood, just to be told she needed to go to Whiterun and speak to the Jarl, Balgruuf. Ignoring the strong urge to chuckle immaturely at his absurd name, she pressed on.

After a three hour trek, the city gates were in sight. She sighed and continued on. Her mind was a mess. Just months ago she had become a woman by Bosmer tradition. She was the strongest warrior in her village, and her parents showered her with love and support.

And now they were dead.

Because of her.

Falja had just set foot in the gates when this thought crippled her. Taking in gasps of breath, she tried desperately to calm herself, not wanting to make a scene. She was already getting strange looks, no doubt because the people of Valenwood did not frequent Skyrim as often as the other peoples of Tamriel, but the mental breakdown she was about to have wasn't helping. She took a few more steps toward the great keep which was just in the distance, but the little voice in her head whispered:

'Your mother promised all three of you would go to Skyrim. Now they're dead because of you. And selfishly you came anyway.'

That was all she could handle. She didn't care who saw- Nord or Argonian- she broke down and sobbed, letting all her emotions flow forth. In the distance she heard a few heckles.

"This is why Elves don't belong here."

"What milk drinking baby."

"Stupid Elf whore, probably got raped on the way here and wants the Jarl to do something about it."

And last of all was a mumble of "Whelp."

This was the only insult that someone else responded to.

"Don't be so rude, she's obviously upset."

Falja heard a shuffle of armor as she continued to sob, and felt arms encircle her.

"Are you all right? What's wrong?"

Falja just shook her head and cried harder. Now the insults and shouts dwindled down to rumor filled whispers. The man holding her called out to his friend.

"Come on, we're taking her to the house. No sense leaving her out here."

His friend grumbled but agreed. Falja felt herself being tugged along, but the fact that someone cared was enough to keep her from fighting. She remembered a door being open and shut, and a cool liquid pouring down her throat. Then the darkness came.

When Falja woke up, the first thing she noticed was that she was in a bed. At this, she relaxed, but then tensed up again when she noticed she was dressed only in her underclothes. Worst still was the set set of bright blue eyes staring down at her from across the room. But the final straw was the man pressed up against her back, holding her close.

Falja screamed and jumped out of bed, flailing her arms all over in an attempt to cover herself. As she backed away from the man in the bed, she bumped into the blue eyed man. Screaming again she faced him, backing away just to bump into the man from the bed who was now standing. She screamed yet again and faced him, just to realise he had the same piercing eyes as the other man.

Falja was about to let out another scream when the man behind her slapped his hands over her mouth.

"Calm down, love! I need you to stop screaming."

"Whelps always scream," grumbled the man holding her.

The other man rolled his eyes.

Falja jerked about, trying desperately to get loose from the man's grip.

"He'll let you go if you promise to stop yelling, ok?"

Falja nodded, still panicking, and as soon as she was released she opened her mouth and screached.

"Small. Loud."

Falja stopped screaming and couldn't supress her laughter. The man that was holding her was massively built, in full armor, and actually quite handsome.

But he was dumb as a box of rocks.

"Well put Farkas. You stick to the fighting, I'll stick to the talking, okay?"

The one named Farkas muttered angrily to himself, but stayed quiet. The other one stared pulling out plates of armor from a box beside the bed and began getting dressed.

"Wait, wait. There are some things I need to know. One: where am I? Two: how did I get here? Three: who are you? And four: what do you want from me?"

The other man was now fully dressed in elaborate steel armor from the waist down, and was in the process of tugging a chest piece over his head.

"One," he grunted as he pulled the piece on,"You're in Jorrvaskr in Whiterun hold in Skyrim. Two," he bent down to pull on heavy boots made also of steel, "I carried you here from by the shrine of Talos, where you were making quite a scene. Three and four," he pulled leather and steel gauntlets on, rolling his shoulders to get the armor to shift into place, "I'm Vilkas, that's my brother Farkas, and we don't want anything from you. We were just trying to help you."

"That still doesn't explain why I'm almost naked or why I was in bed with you!"

"Our shield-sister Aela undressed you, figured youd be more comfortable. As for me laying next to you. That was my bed, and you were shivering. Figured my body heat would keep you warm. Anyway, you mightvwant this. It's not much, but it's nicer than the rags you had on."

Vilkas tossed a green dress Falja's way, and waited for her to get dressed.

"I remember now," Falja muttered as she thought back to the night before, "I was on my way to see the Jarl when..." Falja sighed, too spent to start crying again. Things were going poorly enough already without her keeping the Jarl waiting.

"Thanks for everything. The new dress included. But I need to get going, the Jarl will be waiting for me." Falja started for the keep once again. She didn't dare turn around as she went upstairs and out of Jorrvaskr. She looked up at the keep as soon as she was outside, but stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of a loud sermon of sorts. By a statue of a large man holding a sword, a priest was rambling on and on about the glory of -

"Talos! For I LOVE YOU. Love, LOVE!"

"Umm, excuse me?" Falja muttered, walking up to the priest.

"Yes child? Have you come to hear Talos's word? And gain his GLORIOUS BLESSING?"

Falja was a bit put of by how boisterous the preacher was, but she wanted answers none the less.

"Uh, sure. About how long has this shrine been here?"

The priest scoffed, looking offended.

"How long? How long? As long as this very hold has been here! And long as the keep and the Skyforge! As long as Tamriel!"

"Soooo, say, as long as... My great great grandparents were around?"

"And their parents, and their parents, and their's too! FOR TALOS LOVES US ALL!"

"Ooookay then. That's all I needed to know..."

Falja walked past the priest to stand before the great statue of Talos. She smiled, running her fingers along the worn stone of the statue. To think, that this was the very place where her kin had met, the place responsible for her being alive. And in a way, then, the place responsible for her parent's deaths.

Sighing miserably, Falja reached up to touch her mother's Amulet of Talos for comfort, only to find that it was not there.

Panicking, Falja lifted her dress, searching the ground for it. Her mind raced as she tried to think where it could've been. There was a chance she left it in Jorrvaskr, or that she dropped it somewhere on the way from Riverwood, or even...

And then it dawned on her:

Helgen.

Falja moaned as she remembered that the guards at Helgen stripped her of everything before the execution. And with Talos worship being outlawed, there was no way they wouldn't have removed her amulet.

"Something wrong?"

Falja whipped around, annoyed as all get out as she realised Vilkas had followed her the entire time.

"What do you want?"

Vilkas shifted his weight

and crossed his arms, his distaste for Falja's rudeness made all the more evident by the look on his face.

"I thought you could use an escort."

"I can handle myself, thank you!"

"Oh, is that so, Elf?"

Falja had started walking away, but stopped dead in her tracks at being called 'Elf' in such a way. She spun on her heel, marched unceremoniously up to Vilkas, and slapped him across the face.

"You're lucky you're cute," she snapped.

Vilkas's face switched from pissed to surprised.

"Oh am I now?"

"Don't push your luck, if I had a bow I'd knock your ass out right about now."

Falja marched up the stairs to the keep with Vilkas close behind. Again she was reminded how uncommon her kind were, as the guards stared at her, confused. Once she was in the keep, she made her way up to the Jarl, but not before being stopped by a rather pissed Dark Elf.

"It is considered rude to keep a jarl waiting for more than a few minutes, much less a whole day. You'd better hope what you have to say is important, or I'll cut you down."

Balgruuf cleared his throat from upon his throne.

"Now Irileth, there's no need to be rude," He turned to Falja, "However it was rather improper to keep me waiting. What kept you?"

Before Falja even had the chance to babble like an idiot, Vilkas spoke up.

"Lord Balgruuf, if I may? I observed last night that the girl in question was in no state of mind to grace your highness with her presence."

"Hmm. Vilkas is it? No fit state of mind you say? Is that so?"

"Yes my Jarl."

"Then as your word as a Companion I am inclined to believe you. What, however, is your purpose in coming to the keep?"

Vilkas smirked.

"It seemed to me the girl was in need of an escort."

The Jarl sat back in his throne, relaxed as Falja shot Vilkas a dirty glare.

"In that case, you have fufilled your purpose and may leave."

Vilkas nodded a silent goodbye to Falja, then turned and left the keep, no doubt on his way back to Jorrvaskr.

"Now back you, Elf," Balgruuf sneared, obviously impatient to be done with her. "What news have you brought to Whiterun that is so important you had to bother me in my keep?"

Falja gathered herself to tell the story she had recited in her head a dozen times since leaving Riverwood.

"My Jarl, I was in Helgen but a day ago, destined for the block when the village was attacked. As impossible as it may seem, a dragon attacked Helgen. Last we saw it appeared to be headed towards Riverwood and here in Whiterun. Riverwood has no guards to protect its people, Lord Balgruuf. Please, if you could send some men there to help I'm sure they'd be willing to compensate you in some wa-"

"Now you wait just a minute!" Irileth snapped. "Not a moment ago you admitted to being sentenced to death, and you expect us to believe that the dragons have returned? Are you crazy?"

"Irileth, please," Balgruuf sighed, "Let us hear her out."

"No!" Irileth unsheathed her sword and readied herself to kill Falja. "For all we know she could be a theif! Here to gain your favor in order to get rich and become untouchable!"

Before Falja could even get out her dagger, the door to the keep slammed open.

"Lord Balgruuf!" the guard cried. "Please, quick! The Western Watchtower has been attacked!"

"By what?" Irileth cried, lowering her sword.

"A dragon!"

"What?"

"Irileth!" Balgruuf cried, standing from his throne. "Gather the guards and head towards the tower. See to it that whatever attacked the tower is killed!"

"Yes my Jarl!"

"And you," Balgruuf said, turning to Falja as Irileth and the keep guards ran out into Whiterun, "You go with them. Prove to me that you are trustworthy."

With that, he unsheathed his own steel sword, and tossed it to Falja.

"Thank you my Jarl."

Falja gunned it for the door and sprinted as hard as her legs would allow in order to catch up to Irileth. As soon as the doors to Whiterun opened, Falja could smell it: the stench of burned flesh and gored bodies. She tried to mask the smell by pulling her dress up over her nose, but it was no use. The scent had already fully permeated the air.

As they approached the tower it became obvious that no theives or bandits could've been responsible for the carnage before them.

Irileth sighed at the sight of so many wasted lives.

"Well, spread out, men. Search for any survivors or salvageable items. As for you," she snapped, turning her annoyance to Falja.

"Go through the tower and search for survivors. See if there's any clues to who may have done this. This is probably the work of some Orc lowlives looking for glory in name of Malacath."

Falja went about her assignment, but did so unhappily. If Irileth honestly didn't believe a dragon was to blame for the destruction, she would've had to be out of her mind. It was much more likely that Irileth's pride was blurring her ability to see the truth of the matter.

The dragons were back.

As Falja reached the highest point in the tower, she felt an awful sense of foreboding settle in her gut. If a dragon had indeed attacked the tower, why did it leave? Why not finish the job and attack Whiterun? Unless the dragon knew that someone would have to investigate the attacksite, and that that someone would be half the guards of the hold...

Falja's eyes widened as she realise what was going on. Of course the dragon wouldn't attack Whiterun first, the evidence was in the first attack. Its goal would be to cripple the guard forces by attacking the Watchtower. And by waiting to attack the main city the guards would be drawn out to see what happened and would in turn all be in one place yet again.

As soon as Falja reached a break in the stone wall she screamed out.

"GUYS IT'S A TRAP! RUN!"

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

"NO!"

Falja felt sick as the dragon breathed fire down on the guards, killing three in one breath. Irileth could be heard shouting orders even from atop the tower.

"Keep fighting, men! Don't back down now!"

"No, damnit! Run!"

The shouts of a man being slashed to death could be heard, followed by two more being sent to Sovngarde.

"Damnit!"

Falja paced back and forth desperated for a solution. Then her foot met flesh.

On the stairs of the tower, dead from being slashed to bits, was a guard armed with a bow. In his quiver were three steel arrows.

Falja knew what she had to do. Taking a deep breath she grabbed the bow and the arrows and made her way back down the tower.

The pitter patter of dainty feet. The stretch of a bow.

Falja gasped as she stood before the dragon, its size almost paralyzing. She raised her bow and called on all the courage she had as the dragon rurned to face her, its maw open as it prepared another shout. Falja closed her eyes and turned away.

"Talos guide me."

The twang of its release...

"YOL TOOR-"

And the blood curling sound of three arrows making their mark-bullseye.

Falja sighed in relief as the dragon fell, dead.

Irileth and the three guards who were still alive all rose and began to check their injuries, all shocked and rather annoyed that the Elf girl single handedly took down the dragon.

Falja waked over to the fallen beast and knelt beside it. Though it was indeed a massive and murderous creature, there was something eerily beautiful about it to Falja. Then, out of no where, she felt herself overcome with an almost euphoric feeling that stretched across every inch of her body. Then it died away, only to be replaced with a feeling of power. In the back of her mind, she could hear the fallen dragon speaking to her.

"Feel the power of the Dov in your very soul, joor. 'Fus' force. Feel within you the power only granted to nature and the Dov. The ability to push back the world around you. May you use it well, as you have earned it well."

Falja stood, shocked to see that the dragon corpse that lay before her was now nothing but bone and scale. Stepping away from it, she felt the word soaring inside her, its power swelling to a crescendo until she could no longer help it.

"FUS!"

Falja gasped, covering her mouth as the skeleton of the dragon was forced back over the hill, tucked out of sight. Hands still clasped over her mouth, she turned to face Irileth and the guards who were all gawking at her.

"No...It can't be!" Irileth gasped. "You're the Dragonborn!"


End file.
